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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390184">don't look away (from the arms of a bad dream)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfishofthelord/pseuds/angelfishofthelord'>angelfishofthelord</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Season/Series 09, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Gets a Hug (Supernatural), Crying Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Gen, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Whump, a lot of it, and he gives one instead, because that's iconic, if like death is considered whump?, s9 au, three bean surprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:20:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfishofthelord/pseuds/angelfishofthelord</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re famous, you know,” Malachi hums lightly. “Even in Heaven we’d heard all about the Winchesters. How you resisted the persuasion of Michael and Lucifer themself. Well, I’m no archangel,” he grins, positioning his hands in place at the base of Cas’s head. “But it doesn’t take the power of Heaven to break one mortal, now does it?”</p><p>Cas suddenly widens his eyes. “Dean,” he rasps, panic searing the edge of his voice. “Dean, close your eyes.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel &amp; Hannah (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't look away (from the arms of a bad dream)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is set in S9 but Dean never shoved an angel down his brother's throat or kicked his best friend out of the house. It starts from 9x09 but Dean is with Cas when Malachi's men show up. And so is Hannah because I love Hannah.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In one swift moment the two angels unhook Cas from the chain he’s been hanging from and shove him down to the ground. He lands hard on his knees, just out of arm’s reach from Dean. His blood-soaked chest is heaving slowly, thin ribbons of his shirt dangling between the gashes. He’s conscious, Dean thinks, his mind replacing the word <em>conscious </em>with <em>alive</em>. For a second there Dean wasn’t sure; it was hard to tell from the sheer quantity of blood and screams pouring from Cas when Theo was digging through him with an angel blade.</p><p> </p><p>“Cas?” he whispers, trying to lean closer to his friend’s drooping head. Dean feels the jerk of the chains around his wrist and sags back reluctantly. His shoulders ache from the suspension of his arms above his head and still he propels himself forward, snarling at the two angels pinning Cas to his knees. “Let him go, you heartless dicks, let him--”</p><p> </p><p>The door clangs open behind the angels and Dean stops to draw a breath.</p><p> </p><p>Malachi steps in, the yellow lightbulb highlighting the rotten teeth of his vessel. The angel is by far not the most intimidating bad guy Dean’s ever met, but he’s definitely the most flippant. Every other time Dean was tortured by some demon or douchebag the motive was clear: information or surrender. Malachi, on the other hand, seems generally unconcerned about whether or not he gets either. Dean half wonders if he’s just passing the time between whatever else is going on out there with Hannah and the other angels who at the warehouse when Dean and Cas were rounded up. Malachi will ask Dean and Cas a question every now and then about the spell that sent the angels tumbling out of heaven, but most of the time he sort of just waves at Theo and his minions, giving him permission to torture them like a parent letting his kid turn on the television.</p><p> </p><p>Well not torturing <em>them</em>. Dean’s only received the basic round of kicks and blows; Cas, on the other side, has been the focus of Theo’s attention. How Cas is even still breathing is a mystery. Theo must be healing him in between stabbings; Dean blacked out for awhile when he got smacked across the head for hollering at them to come at him instead of the ex-angel.</p><p> </p><p>Now Malachi stands behind Cas, one long shadow towering before he drops down to a squat. He jerks Cas’ head back by pulling on the tuffs of his hair, eliciting a faint groan from Cas’ lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave him alone,” Dean growls, trying to put as much force behind the hundredth time he’s saying it. “<em>He </em>doesn’t know the spell. <em>I </em>don’t know. I tagged along for one little Cupid adventure, but Metatron was the one telling us where to go and what to do for the trials.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh.” Malachi pushes a crooked finger to his lips. “Don’t strain yourself telling the same old lies.” He yanks Cas’s head further back and those blue eyes flicker faintly, taking a moment to focus on Dean.   </p><p> </p><p>“Cas? Cas?” Dean lunges forward on instinct, the chains immediately impending his progress. “Leave him go you bastards. We don’t know,” he yells. “I do know I’m going to rip you to pieces the minute I get out of these. You better step away now while you can.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re famous, you know,” Malachi hums lightly. “Even in Heaven we’d heard all about you and your brother. How you resisted the persuasion of Michael and Lucifer themself. Well, I’m no archangel,” he grins, positioning his hands in place at the base of Cas’s head. “But it doesn’t take the power of Heaven to break one mortal, now does it?”</p><p> </p><p>Cas suddenly widens his eyes. “Dean,” he rasps, panic searing the edge of his voice. “Dean, close your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cas--what? What are you talking about?” Dean strains harder, the iron handcuffs shredding the skin around his wrists.</p><p> </p><p>“Close your eyes,” Cas insists frantically while Malachi throws his head back and laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing to him? Let him go!” Dean’s shouting, thrashing like a caged spider, and going nowhere. Something bad is about to happen. Something fucked up and Dean doesn’t know what but Cas--<em>Cas knows</em>. He is absolutely still in the angels’ grasp, like he’s afraid to move, and his eyes never leave Dean.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Cas begs hoarsely. “Don’t look. Dean, <em>please</em>, close your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Close my--” He stares at Castiel, trying to understand what he’s saying and those bright blue eyes gaze back at him for a fraction of a second before a sharp <em>crack </em>resounds and Cas’s head whips to the side before flopping back down.</p><p> </p><p>Malachi moves back, dusting his hands off in exaggerated motion. The other angels let down of Cas’ arms, letting his body crumple the ground with soft thunk.</p><p> </p><p>“Here.” Malachi snags Cas by the wrist and hurls him onto Dean’s lap. “Think about your next answer for awhile.” The three angels turn and leave, the choirs of the locks turning and fading footsteps reverberating in Dean’s ear. They echo endlessly, like a tune bouncing around in a vacuum and he doesn’t know what he’s listening for. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at when his eyes lower down and see Cas lying in his lap, blue, sightless eyes staring back at him. Cas--his neck is twisted at sickening angle and the blood from his chest wounds is soaking in Dean’s pant legs. Cas--</p><p> </p><p><em>Get up buddy. Get the hell up.</em> </p><p> </p><p>Dean can’t reach down far enough to reach him with his hand, to wake him up or check him for injuries. He can’t--he can’t--he can’t--</p><p> </p><p>He can’t sit there with Cas’ dead body in his lap, the sound of his best friend’s neck breaking playing over and over and over again in his head.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Dean doesn’t know when the door finally opens. He doesn’t know if it really does. Time and knowledge have escaped him. Existence, too. His lungs are still breathing and he doesn’t know why. He’s afraid to move and shift Cas’s body to the floor so his entire lower half is numb.  He can’t feel the sweat plastered against his skin or the bruises blooming around his wrists.</p><p> </p><p>But then light spills across the floor and a shadow comes creeping over in halting steps. Dean manages to tear himself away from those dead blue eyes he’s been staring at, hoping he can will them back to life.</p><p> </p><p>Dean looks up and comes face to face with Hannah.</p><p> </p><p>She’s on all fours, dragging what looks like her broken leg behind her. Her face is so swollen he doesn’t know how she can even see out of it. Her knuckles are scraped almost raw to the bone and her gray pantsuit is soaked in blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean Winchester,” she gurgles from dark purple lips. Then her eyes fall to his lap and she chokes on the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Help him,” Dean says and it immediately becomes a sob. “Please, please, help him, Hannah, help him.” The chains around his wrists are clattering, his whole body pulsing with the tremors. “Hannah, please.”</p><p> </p><p>She stills him with a touch on the shoulder. “Dean Winchester,” she says again.</p><p> </p><p>Her fingers reach down, hovering over the ghastly crooked bend in Cas’ neck. A glimmering golden glow seeps through her palm and then Cas’ head jerks back and his gray eyelids flutter.</p><p> </p><p>He sits up with a start.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean,” he says. “You’re crying.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean tries to force the letters in his head into words and only manages another blubbering sound.</p><p> </p><p>“Hannah.” Cas turns to her and brushes a hand gently over her cheeks. “Oh, Hannah, what did they do to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“They didn’t kill me,” she replies tersely. Her fingers press against the side of his neck. “Castiel, you were--”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes her hand away gently. “I’m fine now. Now you must heal yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not if you want me to get you and Dean Winchester and you out of here. Breaking the locks will take all of my strength.” She raises a hand and the manacles snap lose, collapsing noisily to the ground. Dean’s arms flop down, heavy as stone pillars, and he can’t even raise them to hide the tears still running on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“We have to go,” Cas says, putting an arm around her waist and helping her to stand. “Malachi will be back any minute. Dean, can you walk? Dean! Are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean braces his forehead against the wall and pushes the rest of his unwilling body up. His arms are still out of commission and every movement sends his nerves into a frenzy of agony but he concentrates on Cas’s voice. <em>Cas</em>. Speaking. Alive. It drives him forward, step by step, as the three of them hobble out the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Malachi is otherwise occupied,” Hannah is saying and they hear the commotion of Bartholomew’s arrival in the distance.  No one notices them slip away in the chaos of exploding angels and dying shrieks.</p><p> </p><p>By the time they reach the Impala Dean has enough feeling in his fingers to bend them and to reach into his pockets and get the keys. He fumbles with the keys, the jingle of metal making him dizzy. The shock is wearing off but parts of his limbs still feel numb; his brain is playing catch up in underwater slow motion. It’s enough to make him want to close his eyes and follow the pull to gravity to the ground but Cas’s voice helps him break through to the surface again.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean. We need to get out of here. Now.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean pushes himself into action. “Yes, now,” he echoes. Hannah slumps into the backseat and Castiel tucks himself in beside her.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a first aid kit under the seat,” Dean adds, his mind finally giving him useful information.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Drive,” Cas gasps, sagging against the spine of the car seat and Dean drives. He glances back in the mirror every now and then to see that Cas is really there. <em>Yousonaofbitch yousonofabitch you--</em></p><p> </p><p>Hannah lets out a shaky breath, her head resting in Cas’ lap while he dabs at the bruises on her face. She’s talking to him in low tones, words catching between her hitching breath. Cas doesn’t say much in return, but he nods and pats her shoulder in between sentences.  </p><p> </p><p>At some point Cas looks up and redirects his gaze to Dean. “Are you alright?” he asks again and Dean wants to start crying again because the guy who was still dead ten minutes ago is checking up on <em>him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Sam greets them at the Bunker door with a pallid face that loses even more color at the sight of them. “Oh my god--Dean--Cas--”</p><p> </p><p>“Hannah,” the other angel pipes up helpfully. She leans hard on Cas’s shoulder and then grimaces at the sight of the long staircase.</p><p> </p><p>Sam ends up carrying her down, Cas and Dean hobbling after him in procession. They set Hannah’s leg, they stitch up the half dozen lacerations on Castiel’s chest, and they bandages the torn skin on Dean’s wrist and set his dislocated shoulder. Sam babbles between ministrations about how he tried to track them from their last location and sent word to Jody to go after them. He brings them water and ibuprofen and sandwiches; then takes the sandwiches away and brings them back with accompanying tomato soup. Hannah falls asleep after the third bite, Castiel manages eight. Dean actually finishes his portion before zonking out.  </p><p> </p><p>Dean wakes up a few hours later to see Sam sitting on a chair beside his bed. “You look like shit,” Dean grumbles. The infirmary beds aren’t anywhere near the comfort of his own foam mattress. The walls are too far apart, there are too many wide spaces. Even a motel room would be more comfortable than sleeping here. The familiarity of the crusty wallpaper is as good as any lullaby.</p><p> </p><p>Sam grins, the dark shapes around his eyes creasing. “Back atcha.” He gestures to Castiel, who’s still sleeping soundly, and Hannah who’s starting to stir. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened?”</p><p> </p><p>With a groan Dean pushes back on the bed. The headrest here is too wide, too hard. It doesn’t fit the curve of his back right when he sits up. “Malachi,” he begins, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Sam hands him. “He took us to his little torture dungeon cuz he thought me and Cas were in cahoots with Metatron and knew how to reverse the spell. He took Hannah too to try and convince her to join his faction or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re an angel,” Sam says in surprise to the woman now sitting up on the edge on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>She nods. “I’m Castiel’s friend. I found him and Dean Winchester when they came to investigate the massacre of my friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“That case we were working,” Dean supplies helpfully.</p><p> </p><p>“I want no part in the violence going on part our kind. Malachi would have had me swear allegiance to him.” She shakes her head slightly. “He did not take kindly to my refusal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why aren’t you healing though?” Sam frowns, looking her over in concern.</p><p> </p><p>Hannah’s eyes meet Dean’s and she takes a moment to reply. “I don’t have enough grace at the moment. It will replenish in time.”</p><p> </p><p>“We were a lot more banged up before we got here,” Dean tries for a grin.</p><p> </p><p>Sam takes it with a smile of his own. “I bet. Can’t go anywhere without me, huh?” He leans over Dean, making a motion of ruffling his hair. “Look who got in trouble without their brother.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Dean mumbles. “Go read a book or whatever you and Kevin do when we’re gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re reading a stone, not books,” Kevin says as he passes by the infirmary. “I’ve still got nothing for you,” he adds quickly, seeing the question forming on Dean’s lips. “You’ll get an email when I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Know I can count on ya,” Dean calls after the boy’s retreating figure. Turning to Sam he motions towards Hannah and Cas. “Let’s get them to the bedrooms, these beds are awful. It’s as bad as putting them up in a hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“Dean.” Sam edges towards where he’s sitting holding out a cup of coffee like a shield. “What’s wrong with you and Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s been two weeks since their escape from Malachi. Hannah’s grace still hasn’t recovered and Sam dug out a pair of crutches to help her get around. Kevin is one third through a potentially crucial translation and only ever comes out of his room to replenish his stock of Red Bull and Twizzlers. Sam is getting stronger in increments, enough to accompany Dean or Cas on short hunts to investigate more angel deaths.</p><p> </p><p>Dean and Cas, though, never go out on hunts together. In fact Dean is never in the same room alone with him, refuses to take him along with the claim of “he needs to recover”, and also finds a way to short-circuit any conversation with him that last longer than three sentences.</p><p> </p><p>Dean can never really meet Cas’ eyes. Not anymore. The last time he spent that long with the dead body of someone he loved was the first time Sam died in Cold Oak. He sat there next to his little brother just long enough to decide that he was going to fix the irreparable. But Cas--he hadn’t been able to do anything but just sit there with the weight of death and failure in his lap. Seeing Cas alive just makes Dean remember how truly dead he he was.</p><p> </p><p>Hannah spends a lot of time with Cas. They read old Enochian books and pore over sigils and translations. Dean generally avoids Hannah too because he doesn’t know what to say to her. How to repay her. How to thank her.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Nothing.” Dean shakes his brother’s question off. “I’m busy trying to figure out how to keep people out of the line of this angel civil war fire, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean.” Sam sits down on the chair beside him; sits down noisily, elbows on the table, getting into that posture of stubborn persistence. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sam, go to bed. You need your strength for--”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Dean</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He looks at his brother with a scowl. “Don’t mom-voice me.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam breaks into a loopy grin. “Works, doesn’t it? Learned from the best.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean scrubs a hand over his face with a groan. His little brother is in one those moods, and if he doesn’t talk to him now Sam is going to traipse after him for days haunting him with the same questions.  “Look, some stuff happened when Malachi had us, like some fucked-up shit went down, okay? He wanted information, and he tortured Cas to try to get it. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam nods understandingly. “You know that’s not your fault. Whenever we go out as a team, the bad guys are gonna use one of us to get to the other one. We’re always at the risk of being leverage for them to use against us. It wasn’t your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know why the reassurance of the truth makes him so angry. “Yeah, sure.” He slams the book he’s been reading shut and stands up to go get a drink. “We get strung up by some vamps or djinn, Sammy, but you’ve never had to watch me die, watch me get my neck fucking snapped and then my dead body dumped in your lap where you can’t even touch me to see if I’m really dead or not you just have to--”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean.” Sam’s fingers curl around his wrist, stopping him. “What are you saying? Cas <em>died</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean looks away. “Malachi killed him in front of me. He just--I-- I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t--I sat there with his body for what felt like forever. Until Hannah came. She used her grace to heal him and free me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Sam breathes faintly. “Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Dean mutters, suddenly feeling a little ashamed. It seems like something you should tell someone, when a friend of theirs has recently gone through their fourth resurrection.</p><p> </p><p>When Sam finally speaks again his voice sounds a little broken. “I’m so sorry Dean. That must have been--I can’t imagine what that was like.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean slides back into the chair. “I don’t know what to do now, Sam, or what to say to him. I can’t say <em>anything </em>to him. He’s puttering around the kitchen making coffee or whatever and all I can think of is ‘I watched you die.’ ”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Okay. Talk to him about that then.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Are you fucking kidding me?</em>  “Talk to him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you idiot. Cas thinks you’re pissed at him. He asked me if you were the other day. If you’re mad that the angels are causing all this trouble or something. You gotta lay it out if this is why you’re avoiding him.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>--Cas--Sam , did you tell him I’m not <em>mad </em>at him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but your actions are still screaming the opposite of that. You know how Cas doesn’t get social cues, you can’t expect him to read between the lines. Talk to him, Dean. You both went through something really--really messed up and traumatic. You don’t think he’d want to talk about it with someone?”</p><p> </p><p>“He has Hannah,” Dean answers defensively.</p><p> </p><p>“She didn’t watch him die,” Sam says softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” Dean pushes his hands through his hair. “<em>Fuck</em>.” He hates it when his little brother is right.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Dean does not go to Cas first, because that would be the right thing to do and he’s a renowned coward when it comes to tackling any kind of foe on the emotional spectrum.</p><p> </p><p>Instead he goes to talk to Hannah. She’s in the library, Rubik cube between her hands and eyes glued on some ancient-looking book in front of her. Dean spends a minute or two staring at how her fingers work the pattern of the cube without her ever even looking at it. Sam was playing with the cube once while they did research and Hannah picked it up and now refuses to put it down except for when she eats and sleeps.</p><p> </p><p>“Hannah,” Dean begins.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean Winchester,” she returns.</p><p> </p><p>He needs to get her to stop saying that. Every time it sounds like he’s about to be lectured by a schoolteacher for turning in his assignment late again. Not like he had time to write that paper about Julius Cesar between hunting down a wendigo when he was in ninth grade.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we talk?” he tries again.</p><p> </p><p>“You are currently already speaking.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Angels. Goddammit.</em> “Can we have a conversation with eye contact?”</p><p> </p><p>She closes the book and pivots to face him. “Yes, of course.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit.</em> Dean’s the one who turns away now, looking over the array of books on the table. “I just wanted to, you know” --<em>what’s the encyclopedia of possession doing out here</em> “--I never actually got around to” --<em>there are five volumes on angel physiology?</em> “--got around to thanking you for, you know”--he glances up for a beat “--thank you for saving Cas.”</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes. “I didn’t save him for you. Your appreciation is noted but unnecessary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool, great, awesome,” he mumbles, thumbing absently through a dossier about warding sigils.</p><p> </p><p>Hannah doesn’t return to her book though. Dean can feel her still staring at him like a sniper. “Do you truly think so little of me,” she says, “that you believe I would only assist Castiel under request or duress?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Cas hasn’t exactly been on the cool kids side of the table with you guys for awhile now. Most of you want to kill him or hurt him. Zachariah, Raphael, Metatron, Naomi,” he counts off his fingers. “So yeah I didn’t think you guys were giving him freebies anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Those were the leaders of Heaven. They do not represent the hearts and minds of the rest of the population.” The cube turns in her hands, colors clicking into place. “Castiel may have committed many acts that are incomprehensible to me but he has never acted out of deceit or selfishness. He is, above all, kind and true. And he is my brother. I would have healed him even if it cost me my life for him.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean glances up. He doesn’t know what to say. She looks…she looks <em>devastated</em>. He remembers that she, too, was tortured by her own kind and then managed to escape and drag herself over only to find Cas lying dead in some human’s lap. She could have healed Cas and escaped with him, leaving Dean behind but maybe keeping some of her grace.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you help me?” Dean asks. “I’m not one of you, we’d barely even met before Malachi whisked us off for torture 101.”</p><p> </p><p>The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “The stories of Castiel are spread extensively in Heaven. I know that he turned against our kind at your behest. He would never have left that place if you were not with us.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Well then, thank you for saving me. You didn’t have to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for looking after Castiel all these years,” she responds simply. “I have only been on earth for a few months and already the loss of Heaven and the host is excruciating. I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been for Castiel all this time. He is blessed to have the comfort of your company.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly Dean can feel the weight of Cas’ body in his lap again, those endless cold eyes staring into him and he drops his hands down. “I didn’t,” he whispers, digging his fists against his knees. He’s not going to cry in front of Hannah, not <em>again</em>. “I didn’t take care of him. Hell, that wasn’t even the first time he got killed because of me.” Not the first time he had to watch him die, either.</p><p> </p><p>Hannah reaches out and puts a hand over his. He wants to pull away; the kindness only highlights how thinly he’s keeping himself together right now. But he can’t bring himself to reject her. Her hand lingers there for a long moment, long enough for Dean to swallow back the rising torrent and bring his breathing back to normal speed.</p><p> </p><p>Then she moves her hand and stands up, gathering her books in one arm. Before she picks up her crutch she straightens up and looks at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean Winchester. You didn’t kill him.”  </p><p> </p><p><em>That’s not true</em> Dean wants to say. Not this time and not the other times Cas died because of him. But if he tries to contradict her now he’s not sure he can make himself heard without a hundred fractures in his voice so he just nods mutely.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>The next night Dean summons his courage to go into the kitchen where Cas is drying the dinner dishes. Hannah cooked tonight; she said when she first took over her vessel she stayed with the family and apparently her vessel’s husband made a mean chili. Eventually she left them to protect them from Malachi’s men who were after her.</p><p> </p><p>The “three bean surprise” was surprisingly good. All the bowls were scraped clean, even Sam’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Cas,” Dean begins, prompting the angel to turn and face and god, he <em>has </em>to look away. He’s the one who needs to ask Cas to close his eyes now. He can’t look at those bright blue eyes without seeing death staring back at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean,” Cas slides the last plate into the dish rack. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, man, can’t we just--” he rolls his eyes mentally. <em>Come on, Dean Winchester.</em> “Look, I’m not mad at you, Cas, for what’s happening with the angels right now. It’s got nothing to do with you and don’t--” he raises a finger as soon as the guilt starts clouding the ex-angel’s face “--get started on the whole ‘it was my fault with Metatron’ thing. It <em>wasn’t</em>. I’ll say it a hundred more times if I have to.”</p><p> </p><p>Cas looks unconvinced but doesn’t press the matter. Instead he shuffles over to the cupboard and gets out his favorite mug and a teabag. “If you’re not upset at me,” he begins slowly, “then why has your behavior towards me changed since we got back?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you died, Cas.” Dean feels hollow even letting the words come out. “I watched Malachi kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you not to,” Cas responds firmly. “I told you to close your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the point, Cas, it’s that I--” Dean frowns. “Hold on.” His heart is picking up speed now because he remembers that now, that moment he never understood. Cas telling him just seconds before he died: Dean, please, close your eyes. Don’t look. “Why did you say that? How did you know….”</p><p> </p><p>“From the angle and pressure of his hands on my head.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the actual fuck.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You knew what he was about to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Cas fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. “I tried to warn you. I knew it would be unpleasant to see.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Holy mother--</em> “Un-unpleasant?” Dean sputters. “What the fuck, Cas? You knew Malachi was about to snap your neck and all you could think of ‘this is gonna suck to watch’? Why the--why didn’t you tell me what was about to happen so I could do something to stop it!”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what, Dean?” Cas takes a step closer to him, challenging. “Everything we said for the hours of torture before that, he never listened to. He wasn’t going to suddenly start being reasonable then. There was nothing to be done.” He looks away, shoulders sagging. The brief moment of fight in him has faded to weary exhaustion. “What I could do was keep you from having to witness it. That was the last thing I could for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean grabs the edge of the counter with both hands because otherwise he might simply fold into the great wide arms of the floor. <em>Fuckfuckfuckfuck</em>. He bites on his tongue to keep the stream of fury from coming out. Cas knew he was going to die, and instead of thinking regular, pre-death thoughts of panic or delusional hope, his mind immediately crossed the road and thought about the other person in the room. And not thinking about the other person in a sappy self-centered deathbed way, but thinking about him in a “how can I make my death the less unpleasant” for him-way. Cas had been begging, on the verge of hysteria, for Dean to close his eyes. He’d have rather been alone in his moment of death than cause Dean any additional pain.</p><p> </p><p><em>Cas you stupid selfless bastard.</em> He looks over at Cas and shakes his head. “Dude, you need to start caring about yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did you say?” The kettle is whistling and Cas turns it off and then stands there expectantly so Dean has to raise his voice above a whisper and say it again.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to start caring about yourself, Cas. You need be a little selfish, okay, in a healthy way, because it’s <em>not </em>healthy for you to always put me or Sam or the mission first. It’s not okay to put yourself last in line, do you get it? You need to care about what happens to you, and you need to let me care about what happens to you. If that involves--god forbid again--letting me watch you die, then let me fucking watch you die! “ He can’t believe he’s actually putting this into words but Sam was right. Cas doesn’t get hints and cues from body language and unspoken sentiments. He needs to be told, he needs to be reminded, he needs to be promised of his own worth.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, there’s no point in that. I won’t have you suffer needlessly.” Cas is starting to get that feverish look of desperation in his eyes, the same look he had when he pleaded Dean close your eyes and suddenly Dean understands. <em>Dean Winchester, you’re a moron. You’re getting slow these days.</em></p><p> </p><p>“You were scared,” Dean says aloud. “Weren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Cas stares at the lightly hissing kettle. He won’t lift his eyes but Dean can still see the glitter of the gathering tears. He thinks of how it must have been for Cas, helpless and surrounded and seconds away from his own death, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to prevent it or save Dean from what might happen after he was gone. If it had been Dean kneeling there and Sam the one in chains, Dean would have been feral, thrashing in hopeless desperation. But instead Cas latched onto the one thing he could control--whether or not Dean watched him die--and channeled his terror in trying to prevent Dean from having to witness it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out. “Cas, I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t kill me,” he whispers, sounding exactly like his sister.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah but you died on my watch. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything to--I’m sorry I didn’t save--” he's trying not to think about what would have happened if Hannah hadn’t been there “--I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Cas is still keeping his eyes fixed on the tea kettle. He reaches up a hand and brushes it quickly across his cheek. Dean moves closer but Cas keeps his back firmly angled away from him. He waits, not knowing if Cas wants to left alone or comforted or offered a bottle of whiskey. Personally he’s leaning hard toward the third option.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Cas finally says with something that sounds like a wobbly laugh. “Just--next time, please close your eyes when I tell you to.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Like hell.</em> He’s never going to look away; that’d be the same as walking away. “Fine, I will. I’ll close my eyes if you promise not to die again. Deal?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean I can’t promise--”</p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” Dean sighs. Cas shuffles over, his eyes still downcast, but he leans into the touch when Dean wraps his arms around him. “It’s not a good habit, y’know,” Dean goes on, hands pressed against Cas’ shoulders. <em>Christ. T</em>he poor guy feels almost bone-thin beneath the cotton shirt. They need to start feeding him better. Sam needs to stop convincing him to eat salads. “Dying. You gotta quit it at some point, ‘kay? Better start now than tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll do my best,” comes the muffled response from Cas’ head against his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” Dean adds quietly. He doesn’t need to spell it out. <em>I’ll do my best to keep you safe. </em>It’s not much of a promise, considering how many times he’s already failed. But he feels Cas reaching up, his fingers twisted in the back of his shirt like he’s holding on for dear life and Dean thinks that maybe the tiny knot at the end of a thread is big enough to hold the weight of all their fraying lives.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrVLYuKYKg4">The Forgotten</a> by Green Day.  </p><p>Come say hi on my <a href="https://angelfishofthelord.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> where I make everything about Cas</p></blockquote></div></div>
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